


Presents

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 12:00:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11335248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Alex drops by with a bag of goodies.





	Presents

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Presents by Te

25 October 1998  
Presents  
by Te  
September/October 1998  
Disclaimers: If they were mine, I'd hardly spend time *writing* this stuff, now would I?  
Spoilers: Not a one, though some vague references to The Red and the Black.  
Summary: Alex drops by with a bag of goodies.   
Ratings Note: NC-17 for poor language and M/K relations.   
Author's Note: A gift for the marvelous Imajiru, who made me a page of my very own. *happysigh* It's here, btw: http://strangeplaces.net/te/  
Acknowledgments: To Rachel for being an enthusiastic and encouraging audience. To Dawn Sharon for more of the same as well as many helpful comments. To Spike for fine, fine beta, and to Sister Blue just because.   
Feedback: Yes, please, always. A thousand times yes. 

* * *

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Presents  
by Te  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mulder finished off his draft of the report with an unnecessarily vicious jab at the enter key, selected print, and leaned back in his chair. His vision was grainy, hazed around the edges and blinking didn't help at all. He considered changing his font again. He wondered when he'd begun using the concept of "drafts." 

He remembered being fifteen, looking at the gushing praise scrawled redly all over the back of one of his term papers and realizing just how pointless things were, really. Of course, Mulder was also aware of how stereotypically adolescent the belief was, but the knowledge had been unhelpful. Not when he knew full well that the paper in question had been rushed out in an insomniac haze the night before it was due... So long as he was quiet his mother wouldn't catch him awake. So long as he was neat the teachers would adore the work and him by association. He'd given up bothering with drafts. Until Scully. 

No, he was willing to admit that wasn't fair. The X Files in general demanded the sort of ruthless creativity he'd only ever been able to manage with the help of illegal drugs and sleep deprivation before his impression of a career had begun. Scully just made it *official* that he'd have to work a little harder to get by. 

Times like these, vision gone dull with exhaustion, hearing treated to nothing more musical than the uneven patter of drizzle outside his window, he couldn't help feeling it was a bit unfair. Couldn't help wondering with shameless morbidity if it would only get harder as he got older and weaker. Wearier. 

So he couldn't quite bring himself to care overmuch about the barely audible creak of a floorboard behind and to the left of him. About the wash of wet leather that made his tongue ache. About the prick of ice cold steel against his throat. But it was, perhaps, a good time to make conversation.

"A little low tech for you, isn't it, Krycek?"

"Call me Alex."

"Because you have a knife to my jugular?"

Low chuckle and a shift that brought Alex a little closer. Close enough to make the hairs on the back of Mulder's neck prickle in a way that seemed to demand a lolling back. A nuzzle into the hard belly just behind him. "Not really, Mulder..."

It was hard to stay still. "Then why?" The knife traveled a little further down, ducked between the collar of Mulder's t-shirt and the flushing -- he could feel it -- skin of his throat. The placement was no longer one of immediate deadliness, but he was... tired. "Why?"

The sound of his t-shirt being neatly split in half was obscenely loud, but still nowhere near enough camouflage for his gasp. Mulder had to admire the immediate jerk of the knife away from his heaving stomach. It made the cut uneven, but it implied that Alex wasn't planning to scar him. This early. Alex's voice was a lazy purr. "Just because..."

He ran the flat of the blade back over Mulder's torso and pressed in closer from behind. Mulder was positive that, were the back of his chair to melt away, he'd be able to feel nothing but heat. This was moving too fast when it shouldn't have been moving at all. "What the hell do you want, Krycek?"

The knife was immediately removed, the heat as well. Mulder had a sudden flash of distaste at the idea of turning to face his visitor, at himself for hating the idea of motion more than the inevitable result. It had to be done, though. 

Alex was holding out an open backpack, worn to battered softness. His expression was careful and placid, though his eyes were bright with mischief. The silence was starting to stretch uncomfortably, the sort of weight that made Mulder long to jump in with any one of the smart-assed quips he'd begun storing as a child. Sound and energy to fill the blank spaces... but the encounter was entirely wrong. The air was cool and heavy with fall moisture on his chest and the man in front of him wasn't doing this right, at all. 

There needed to be harshly whispered secrets and excuses. He needed to bruise his knuckles on the bone beneath stubbled skin. There wasn't enough urgency to this and sleep was a temptation denied. 

"What'd you bring me, Daddy, hunh?" There was a depressing lack of intensity to the sarcasm in his voice. 

Quirk of an eyebrow and Mulder knew the other man had picked up on his own low... enthusiasm? Was that what was missing? It seemed obscene. Deeply sick to be disappointed he wasn't beating on Alex. Or rather, to be disappointed he didn't wish to do so.

"Did I come at a bad time?"

"Do you ever come at a good time?"

Alex snorted and tossed him the backpack, moving further away at the same time. A declaration of safety, then -- the sort of thing that should've been completely at odds with his shredded shirt.

"There aren't any nasty toothed things in here, are there?" 

"Not this time, no. And I... never mind."

Mulder paused with his hand half in the bag. "What?"

Alex shrugged, made his way over to the couch. "Toothed. Ed words in general. Very..." A smile he'd never seen before, brightly wicked, confident and calm. Mulder's knuckles itched. "Cute."

"Cute."

"Tooth-ed, fatigue-ed, arouse-ed..." 

"It's not every day I get my clothes sliced off, Krycek."

Brief frown. "Alex."

"What, before I even see what my prezzies are?"

"Tooth-ed. Prezzies. More demon children for you to put up with on the job?"

"You know how it is with these kids today--" Mulder bit his own words off, quietly appalled at their ease, quietly disgusted at his surprise. He began to rummage, growing frustrated at the disappointment of his sensory expectations. The backpack was nearly empty, no files or envelopes that he could feel. 

It occurred to Mulder part of the ease to the encounter was that he *did* have certain expectations. It seemed as though there'd never been a time that his professional life hadn't come with the occasional clandestinely received file, the whispered 3 a.m. phone calls that had left him numb to the expectation of tragedy. Last spring he'd begun discarding the packages, ignoring the calls.

In retrospect, it was only logical his shadowy 

//puppeteers//

presumed allies had decided it was time for a personal visit. And after... After that it was impossible to believe the putatively anonymous tips he continued to receive came from anyone but the man on his couch. But the only thing he felt of any consequence in the pack was a slim, cool canister. Entertaining thoughts of plague and alien organisms with something like excitement, he pulled the canister out. To see a gaily colored can of Redi-Whip.

"Whipped cream?" Mulder was grateful for the clarity of incredulity in his words, but the edge of disappointment was rapidly growing tiresome. "I'd have thought your kinks would be a *little* more interesting than this, Krycek."

"My kinks." A pause. "You've thought about my kinks?"

Mulder decided to let the silence hang, set the can aside and continued to rummage. Butterscotch sauce. He gave the plastic squeeze bottle an ostentatiously quizzical look, turned it on the man who'd brought the stuff to his apartment. Took the opportunity to get a better look. Sleek and well-fed even under the leather... new leather, too. He chose to believe the newness justified how the scent of it was still heavy on his palate. The past summer had been kind to some, it appeared.

"Just what *did* you have planned for tonight?"

Alex snickered, shifted a little on the couch. "Gee, Mulder, I think I'd much rather hear you speculate."

"C'mon, haven't we long since established I have a filthy mind?"

Broad grin and Mulder wondered if it was the same as the one Alex had worn that first night in the cell, in the dark. Dirty jokes and stifled laughter. Anything to pass the time. Well, perhaps not anything. 

"... mean I don't want to hear it."

Mulder snapped back to himself with a jerk he knew was all too visible. The eyes retained their humor but there was a seriousness beneath it. Speculation, indeed. For just a moment Mulder toyed with the idea of telling Alex precisely what he was thinking. Face down on the bed, jerking a little -- he'd be tied -- at the feel of cool sauce being squeezed down the length of his spine and beyond. Perhaps the jacket would be pillowed under his head...

"Nothing all that interesting, Krycek."

A snort. "Liar."

//Yes, but that's what we're *supposed* to be doing.//

"Just tell me what you had planned, Krycek."

He was subjected to an eyebrow quirk in response, and his apartment seemed to be spinning rapidly out of sync with the rest of reality. This was wrong.

"Fine. What did you have planned, Alex?" There, the exasperation at least was perfect, but Alex only grinned at him. 

"Check your freezer."

Mulder sighed once, decided to roll with it. "Too much to hope for a corpse with mysterious circumstance behind its demise, isn't it?"

Alex shook his head. "I *knew* I should've brought the two-headed tarantula instead."

Mulder paused on his way to the kitchen. He didn't trust his ability to hide a smile so he didn't bother to turn. "Instead of what?"

"Would you just go *look*?"

And Mulder went. At first, there seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary -- same old TV dinners, Scully's round and efficient little Tupperware dish filled with her attempt at casserole. That had been an... experience... though he had to admit the wine had been excellent, the conversation; reassuring. But there it was, right in front of his face. A half-gallon of premium ice cream. Vanilla ice cream. 

Vanilla.

Perhaps this was Alex's game. Frustrate him to the point of homicide with blandness before setting him loose on the world. He was willing to bet there weren't even any sprinkles. 

"Find it OK?"

Mulder couldn't help stiffening at the husky little purr from the vicinity of his left ear, the heat the man radiated. He was abruptly aware that his chest was still bare, and that his nipples were spiked with cold. It was all so annoying: the man could not only creep up on him without his knowledge but stock his *freezer*.

"I'm a trained federal agent, Alex." Low chuckle and suddenly there was a tongue in ear, lewd and shameless and Alex's arm was snaking around his waist, tattered edge of his t-shirt pressing into his belly, unmistakable hardness against his ass. "Fuck... don't--"

Alex backed off immediately and Mulder slammed the freezer closed, quietly shocked to find the ice cream in his hand. He set it on the counter and turned. Alex was leaning against the kitchen table, dangerously close to an extremely tall pile of old folders. His face was as calm as ever but Mulder couldn't miss Alex's quick swipe of the tongue over his lower lip. Or the ruthless adjustment the younger man made to the bulge in his pants. Mulder knew he was staring, but his mouth still...

"Ache..."

"What, Mulder?"

"Toothache. We're going to get toothaches if we eat all this ice cream." With a dreamy sort of horror Mulder realized the reason why he had no idea how Alex was reacting was that he was staring nowhere near the other man's eyes. Slow drag up over the torso and he was nearly caught again by the just-a-little-too hard breathing, smooth jaw, parted lips, and finally the eyes. Far too dark and serious. 

Mulder was struck with a sudden bone-deep belief that Alex was poised on the edge of pouncing on him. Slamming him back against the freezer and taking his mouth like he'd taken his ear. Gripping him roughly through the jeans and...

"... eat it all."

Mulder snapped his gaze back to Alex's face. "What?"

Another laugh, but shaky enough to be shattering in its own right. "I said, we don't have to eat it all."

"Oh, right..."

A move, too fast for reaction beyond the reflexive bend in Mulder's knee as he reached for his throwaway, but Alex was only wielding an ice cream scoop.

His foot fell with a thump. "Christ, Alex, don't you ever get mixed up?"

"You'd be surprised what a well-trained man can do with an ice cream scoop, Mulder."

"Really?"

"Well, no..."

"Part of you is going to be thinking about the problem all night, isn't it?"

Alex snorted once, gave him another grin. "I think that depends on you, Mulder."

He could take this as seriously as his own rapidly tightening jeans were insisting; he could take the invitation to laugh at all the obvious sexual tension. Mulder's neck prickled at the acknowledgment and he wondered when they'd gained so much *history*. "I'll get the bowls."

"Good call." And Alex waited until Mulder had moved to the opposite corner of the room before moving in on the ice cream. It was a courtesy that felt more like a tease, but Mulder had to wonder how much of that was his own fault. Which made him bang the cabinet door shut just a little too hard.

Alex was digging into the ice cream with the scoop, small frown of concentration doing far too little to mar his features, and there was a chance -- a good one -- that some of that new-leather wash of scent had attached itself to the little plastic thing. He wanted to find out. He wanted to walk over there -- as he was doing now -- rip the scoop out of Alex's grasp, and lick it clean. Just to find out. But he settled for placing the bowls down, trying not to hover. 

He could go out to the living room and take the plastic wrapper off the butterscotch sauce. Presumably Alex liked it, or he wouldn't have brought it. He could pop the cap on the whipped cream and take a massive hit of nitrous. He suspected he'd be disappointed at how the effects would compare to this night, though, or even his life in general. He could lean a little closer... 

Mulder gave up and ran his nose along Alex's shoulder, felt the younger man stiffen and fisted his hands in the leather, digging in slightly at Alex's waist. Continued the journey up around the collar and felt the tickle of short hairs against his forehead.

"Mulder, what..." 

And the sound of Alex's voice made him remember the point of this exercise was to breathe deep. And he did, groaning because it was just as good as he'd imagined, sharp and strong at this distance. He pressed himself harder against Alex and continued, halting his hands' progress over the trim waist and down by tightening his grip on the jacket until he'd reached the abrupt end of the other shoulder. Then he reminded himself to let go.

"Living room, then?" There was a brief jab of pain in Mulder's hands, another reminder of encroaching age and winter, but his voice was admirably steady.

Alex didn't turn immediately. "You are *such* a pervert."

"I'm not the one who brings whipped cream and butterscotch sauce and then expects people to actually *eat* it. With *food*."

There was an edge in Alex's laugh and that was just fine, too. Mulder grabbed a spoon from the dishrack, retrieved his bowl, and left the kitchen. Felt eyes on his back and wondered how much longer they were going to play at this. Set his ice cream on the coffee table. Flopped easily on the couch, and wondered if it was too early to throw one leg over the back of the thing. And then there was the thump-clatter of a bowl hitting the end table behind him and a cool hand gripping his chin and tilting his head back. The kiss was awkward but the taste was sweet -- Alex hadn't waited before digging in. His tongue was a casual invader, and as soon as Mulder began sucking on it the hand began to rove: tickling his throat, lingering alarmingly before finding a nipple and squeezing not hard enough. Mulder growled once before reaching back and yanking the other man up and over his body. 

Alex giggled and allowed himself to be manhandled, the tangled sprawl of their limbs resolving itself with them both more off the couch than on. A vicious bite to Mulder's calf made him jerk hard enough to land them on the floor, but he couldn't bring himself to regret that. Not with Alex obliging him with bites all the way up his thigh. 

Mulder tried to get both his jeans and the tattered remains of his shirt off at the same time, finally gave up on the shirt as a lost cause when he realized Alex was hovering at just that point where things got interesting. Moving from thigh to thigh, then back again, teeth digging in at the exact same pressure each time... Mulder's fingers were suddenly, hopelessly clumsy, and he vowed never to purchase button-flies again.

"Fuck! Alex, what the hell did you do with the knife?"

He paused mid-bite and Mulder swore he could see the corner of his mouth twitch. Laughter in the middle of sex was a good thing, but he'd be damned if he'd give the man enough time and freedom to indulge in it right *now*.

"Gee, Mulder, you reacted so *badly* to it before... I thought you might like it if I took it a little easier, instead." And he ran a slow, meticulously gentle hand up Mulder's flank. 

Too much. "Just get my fucking pants off and suck me, dammit!"

Mulder felt fingers tighten briefly on his hip and then Alex was nosing his crotch, less a nuzzle than a full-facial rub. Animalistic, harsh on the both of them. With unerring instinct Alex found the trapped head of his cock and sucked hard, growled and Mulder was arching into the heat, helpless and needful and it felt so good...

Just as suddenly, Alex pulled himself off and knelt up, straddling him. "Please--"

"Grab your fly and hold it away from yourself... Oh, Jesus, don't... don't rub like that, Mulder, I'm not that good...." 

Another shaky laugh and Mulder finally had a decent grip on nothing but the pants, abruptly grateful for his own poor eating habits and positive he'd be grateful he'd chosen briefs this morning. Alex had the knife in his teeth, ludicrously piratical but the practiced shimmy out of the jacket inspired nothing resembling humor. 

Knife in his hand, now, and Mulder waited. Watched Alex *glare* at the hand until it stopped trembling and then Alex cut in just below Mulder's thumb and ripped the fly free. Complex little motion and Alex was gripping the knife by the tip, seemed poised to toss the thing at some random wall. Mulder caught him by the forearm, felt muscles tense interestingly under his palm.

"Why don't you just... set it aside for now, Alex?"

"For now."

Not a question so Mulder chose not to answer, instead running his hand along the other man's arm, digging his thumb in small, suggestive circles on the smooth wrist. He could feel Alex's gaze demanding a meeting and he complied, smiling once into the gleam before leaning back on his elbows and bucking as much as he could under Alex's warm, solid weight.

Thick lashes fluttered closed. "Mmm... yeah... you wanted me to suck you..."

Mulder chuckled low in his throat and made spreading motions with his thighs. "That was the plan, yes."

Wicked grin and Alex was scooting back and flattening himself, grabbing the waistband of Mulder's briefs in his teeth and yanking them down just far enough. Short laps along his shaft and each was its own slash; wet bladed cuts that left him squirming and groaning. Begging with the mindless snap of his hips toward a mouth that refused to descend properly.

"Don't... don't tease please I want to come in your mouth..."

Alex nosed his sack out of the way and bit him high on the thigh, sharp and warningly but the pain shot to the base of his spine and mingled with everything else and he cried out for more. Alex bit him again and suckled, and Mulder knew he'd have a bruise tomorrow but all he wanted -- all he could care about -- was the concept of more. Abstract in the extreme but *good*.

Alex began yanking at his ruined pants, growling soft and low and Mulder reached down to help as much as he was able, lifting his hips and 

"Christ, Mulder--"

wriggling to make it easier, or perhaps just for the sheer joy of wriggling and Alex was back down again, bracing his forearm low on Mulder's abdomen and sucking in the head of his cock. Bright heat and near-pain and not enough time to work it out in his head before Alex was taking him deep. Mulder could feel throat muscles working and he let his head fall back to the floor, grateful for the carpeting and the enthusiastic suck and the oh Christ *hum* --

"Alex--"

And then his own voice was a mystery to him, flat and shameless but it was probably just more and Alex again and again and his body was restless under Alex, snapping and rolling like he'd wanted to do since the first guileless, lying "C'mon," since the first time he'd felt that lean, hard length struggling against his own....

Alex pulled back until he had just the head in his mouth, pulled hard once, twice and Mulder *would* make him tell who'd taught him how and he buried his hands in the soft dark hair and the flow of it was an eternity of water and Alex took him deep again. One last, wet moan around his length and he was coming hard, deep into Alex's throat and the rough cry was broken glass in his throat.

Mulder opened his eyes to a view of plain white socks, toes wriggling a bit within their confines. Clink-scrape from above and he craned his neck to see Alex stretched out on his couch, eating ice cream and still mostly clothed. Mulder looked down at himself, took in the shredded t-shirt puddled around his shoulders, kicked off the tangle of his pants. 

The thought of some faceless drone pawing through his trash and finding his clothes was almost pleasant enough to ignore the picture of calm on his couch. Almost. 

Mulder forced his sex-slackened limbs to motion and stood, still wobbly.

"Do you have any *idea* how sexy you look with just that t-shirt, Mulder?"

He refused to be distracted. "You're eating the ice cream."

Alex smiled, got himself another liquid spoonful. "I am, indeed."

"It's not even a solid anymore, it's... it's vanilla *soup*."

Alex turned his gaze to the bowl, wobbled it a bit. "You have a point."

"Why aren't you fucking me?" 

//OK, that wasn't in the script.//

The other man just tilted the bowl up and slurped the mess down, not even bothering to wipe away the vanilla mustache melting its way over his lips. Quick and mostly ineffectual swipe of the tongue. "It's not *every* day I get the chance for a good bowl of ice cream."

Mulder nodded once, picked up the knife, and advanced. Settled himself on Alex with a moan and leaned in to clean away the offending ice cream with his tongue. Alex dropped his head back against the arm rest and lay nearly passive under Mulder's attentions, only his thumb moving, working Mulder's nipple with restless focus. Finally, Mulder let his tongue slip inside and couldn't hold back the moan at the taste of himself mingled so decadently with cool sweetness. 

That spurred Alex to action and Mulder was treated to the singular sensation of having his own tongue licked with the sort of regard for detail that would make a CPA proud. The twitch in his still over-sensitized cock was, perhaps, the most obvious sign that it had been too long. Never mind that he was grinding himself, heedless of pain or shame, into another man. Never mind said man was Alex Krycek...

No, he'd have to take that back. It was Alex Krycek licking his tongue, and Alex Krycek stroking and petting and gripping him hard, and it was Alex Krycek whose dick would be as far up his ass as he could convince the man to go. 

Mulder stood up again, letting Alex's hand catch nothing but his t-shirt, reveling in the odd sensation of freedom as it was finally pulled away from his body as he made his way to the bedroom. Brief twist ensured the knife remained firmly in his grasp, loose-limbed dip and he had his own bowl of vanilla soup. A creak of old leather and Alex was behind him again, he knew it, and damned if he didn't intend to keep him there.

"Bring the whipped cream."

"Yes, *sir*." And the smile was audible, but Mulder found he was growing a little used to it.

"And the butterscotch sauce."

"Way ahead of you."

Mulder thought about sharing his musings about the benefits of Alex staying behind him but decided against it in the darkened bedroom. The streetlights only enhanced the gleam in the other man's eyes and Mulder set the bowl down on the end-table; tugged the toppings out of Alex's unresisting grip and tossed them on the bed. Made his own ridiculously clumsy cut with the knife -- Alex wasn't laughing -- before finally tearing the thing off. Tossed the knife away, pleased at the satisfying thunk into his wall. Finally allowed himself to take in Alex's naked torso. 

Scarred, asymmetrical, but essentially *Alex* in a way that was terrifyingly easy to believe in. Beautiful. Mulder shook off the momentary paralysis, caught Alex by the jeans and pulled him close, claiming another kiss.

Still sweet-bitter, still intoxicating and Mulder was grateful his hands were finally behaving, yanking open the jeans and catching Alex at the root. The move earned him a gasp and a bite to the lip. Perfection but Mulder wanted more. Tossed Alex on the bed and yanked the jeans and boxers off, and reminding his body of the lessened urgency didn't make it any easier to move as slowly as his mind desired.

Alex was hard and ready for him and there was so much he wanted to do and feel and... taste. Mulder felt his mouth curl into a smile but the look of encroaching apprehension on Alex's face was a better gauge than any mirror of how it must look. He dumped the ice cream soup unceremoniously along the other man's length to the accompaniment of a truly inspiring shriek. 

"Jesus fucking Christ, Mulder!"

"Oh, c'mon, it's not *that* cold." He punctuated his mollification with a lick of promise along Alex's softening cock. And reached for the butterscotch sauce. The squirm was an entertainment in itself, but...

"Jesus-- the *sheets*!"

"We'll burn 'em with my clothes. Knees up and spread." Alex obeyed with a giggle, followed by a reflexive jerk as the new positioning caused some of the mess to move to more interesting areas. Mulder considered the whipped cream, decided it might be a little much. He surveyed his handiwork and grinned ruefully. Alex was a mess, although Mulder had to admit he was a terribly attractive and tempting one. 

Mulder grabbed a pillow and set it under the other man's willing hips and began to lap. "You couldn't just get some chocolate sauce?"

Alex had begun to tremble with the first touch of his tongue along his perineum, words spoken there made him jerk. Mulder wrapped his arms around the lean, sticky thighs to hold him steady.

"I didn't... didn't want to be too predictable Christ don't stop..."

Husky and hoarse and wanting and impossible to resist. Mulder tightened his hold on Alex's thighs and did his level best to lick him clean. And then gave up on that and just rimmed the man. He hadn't done this for another man in years and it was just as good as he remembered. Dark taste losing nothing to the cloying sweetness, moans and pleas sending him quietly reeling...

But he wanted more. One final stab and Mulder ran his tongue back up, pausing to suck on Alex's lightly quivering sack before giving it a firm tug with his fingers.

"Bastard!"

"This isn't the time for your latest excuse about my father, Alex."

Alex's breathy laugh was more than a little tinged with shock, snapping Mulder far enough back into himself that he could decide, for perhaps the thousandth time, that he really was quite fucked up. That taken care of he could continue licking just enough to get Alex's cock condom ready. And then just a little bit more because that hand massaging his scalp was a fine thing and he could get used to butterscotch so long as it never lost the gift of bitter, pearling fluid and sharp cries...

But he wanted more. Mulder pulled off, narrowly avoiding losing a large tuft of hair to Alex's fingers. He fumbled in the end table for condoms and slick and the purr he got when they landed on the bed was the sort of thing that coiled around the base of the spine and settled there with sleepy contentment. 

"How do you want to do this Mulder, hmm?" Hand stroking his thigh, tugging a bit at the short hairs.

"My way."

Short bark of laughter and Alex was settling his arm behind his head, laying himself out obligingly. "You know, if you keep behaving this way I'm *never* going to bring the two-headed tarantula."

Mulder rolled the condom on Alex, taking far too long, but there was all that damned sticky stuff to be considered and... "Was that supposed to be a threat, Alex?" Brief squeeze to get another moan.

"N-no... I'm just... absolutely terrified about what you'd *do* with it."

"Are you..." The feel of the lube was cool on his fingers and made Alex move encouragingly under his hand. Had to be instinctive. He doubted anyone -- faced with a flushed, moaning, and fully erect Alex -- would be able to do many things beyond the obvious. Unless, of course, they *led* to the obvious. 

"Am I what?"

"Hmmm...?"

"Mulder... take it easy..."

Mulder shook himself out of it again and positioned himself above Alex, squeezed more slick on his fingers and began to rub a little warmth into it. "I was going to ask you a question..."

"Yeah?" Alex eyes were burning, wholly focused on what Mulder was doing. He licked his lips again and Mulder hissed at the sight, decided if he was going to get himself done he'd have to avoid it for a while.

"Do you honestly mean to tell me you *weren't* planning this when you packed all the dessert toppings?"

Alex laughed, groaned and rolled as the sound apparently shot to his own cock. "Well... I never thought... thought you'd go through with it..."

A small voice began to yell at his pride for feeling bruised, but some things weren't to be borne. "Really."

Again, not a question and Mulder didn't bother looking for a response, just reached back and took himself, knowing on some level that Alex would never do it this hard but it felt *good*. He could feel his spine arching as he worked his fingers, a twist and he was crying out, eyes long since closed and of course he knew how to do this for himself... but it was almost too much to think about the fact he was doing it for someone else this time.

Better for it to be a solitary game, better not to think about the thighs flexing restlessly between his own, the meaningless string of hoarse pleas raining on his ears... better to be alone in this, fingers deep and flexing, cock painting his own abdomen with the promise that yes, he'd be allowed to grasp it soon, stroke fast and hard but that wasn't *his* hand on his cock...

"Mulder, please--"

Well, that game ended quickly but Mulder couldn't bring himself to regret it, not when he could catch Alex's cock by the base and position it, not when he could sink down and gasp at the blunt reality, further and sob, just a little... Alex still held him and began to stroke, just as carefully as he expected but the hand was callused and strong and it was enough to make Mulder move. He pulled off, aching at the loss despite his control and slammed back down, pinioning himself wonderfully and he wanted.

Alex heard the request and leaned back, bracing himself as much as possible and slamming hard, leaving Mulder to take his own cock and jerk. There was nothing quite like this at all, even with other men. Alex poured everything he had into his fuck, loud and reckless and just what Mulder needed. He screwed himself down, tossing his head back and groaning, begging for more when he was getting everything he wanted and more than he'd dreamed.

The night wasn't supposed to have gone this way, but Mulder could take it, take Alex and let himself be taken, lose himself in a brutal ride and the sound of his own cries, wonder if it would ever happen again. If he could ever *allow* it to happen again, but thoughts like that burned faster than the fuse of his spine. He was his aching cock and his marvelously split ass and nothing more than that could possibly matter...

And Mulder felt it start to build and fought it back for a few more precious moments of give and receive before losing it altogether, close to tumbling off with the strength of it but Alex's cock was its own foundation and force, holding him steady even while driving him mad, shouting and coming, rode to the sort of oblivion he dreamed of when it was cold and he was...

******

Mulder woke up alone. Or, so he thought at first. The empty space beside him was still quite warm and reeked pleasantly of Alex and far too much sugar. The sheets were hopeless, by the feel of them. He nudged himself out from under a soft mass of pillow, listened. There was the soft creak of a floorboard.

He pulled himself out of bed, glanced at the clock and winced. Tomorrow -- today -- would be a vacation day. Fuck the reports, he'd e-mail them in. For now, he needed to get some idea of what he should expect.

Made his way to the living room and found Alex on the couch, slumped against the back, eyes closed yet in constant motion behind the lids.

"Mmph. What are you doing up?"

Mulder shrugged, realized that further coherency was probably required at this point, realized he had no idea what to say, and moved to join the other man on the couch. Had to try, though...

"You know, you could --"

And the eyes snapped open immediately, fixed him with a look both wry and a bit rueful. "No, I can't."

Mulder nodded, picked up the backpack from where it had landed the night before. "So... what else do you have in here, Alex? Did I miss anything important?"

Chuckle broken with a yawn. "Not sure... haven't carried the thing in a long time."

"And yet you told me with a straight face there weren't any nasty tooth-ed things in here."

"Well, I was reasonably sure. Go ahead and rummage. Maybe you *did* miss something important."

Mulder obliged, pulling out an assortment of commonly pretty stones that got him a blush and a sour little twist of the mouth, a large New York City subway token with a "Y" punched out the middle --

"Hey, I said it had been a while, Mulder."

"Yes, but you weren't even--"

"A souvenir."

//Of what? Another time...//

The prize had to be the dark blue and extremely battered paperback copy of _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ he found when he pried up the bit of cardboard that gave the pack shape. 

Alex reached for the book, turned it a little wonderingly before handing it back to Mulder. "I'd forgotten about that. I used to..."

"Used to what?"

Alex gave him a look of exasperated tolerance, shifted into a slightly more upright position. "I used to read a few pages of that every day to... Well, just because."

Mulder thought about it for a moment, before nodding his understanding.

"You can keep it, if you want. Tends to make everything else... normal."

Mulder breathed, set the book down, closed the backpack, set *that* down. Turned to look at Alex and twisted himself awkwardly, taking Alex's face in his hands.

//Come back soon.//

The kiss was slow and gentle and easy, though difficult to pull away from.

"Thank you."

Mulder took the bright grin for the farewell he hoped it was and went back to the bedroom. He really did need to get some sleep. 

~~~~  
End.  
~~~~

Note: When I asked Imajiru what I could possibly give her for providing me with a home (I have a home! I have a home!) she replied:

"M/K, a knife, need, intensity, whipped cream, a toothache, butterscotch sauce, and one of those NYC Subway tokens that went out of circulation 20 years ago."

Hope you like your present, chica!


End file.
